The German billionaires seem to have a dozen cars parked in their courtyard. All have Stuttgart plates. Perhaps they're self isolating with friends. Late at night the sound of laughter drifts down towards The Rickety Old Farmhouse from the chateaus capacious terrace.
Monday morning. The school bus picks up its gaggle of unhappy passengers. The smaller ones greet Sophie with a hearty ' Bonjour'. The older ones ignore us with studiedly cool teenage indifference.
We head down to the stream and the waterfall. Sophie has discovered that by carefully perching on the stones that line the stream bed she can access the remaining pools of water for a drink and some minnow fishing.
Off then to the cafe with the audacious sparrows. They flutter around in search of wayward crumbs. Sophie glares at them from under her fringe . Today is a quiet ' I can't be bothered to chase them off ' type day.
The lady at the Volvo garage e-mails an offer , with a healthy discount and a good price for the ' Loonj' . It is accepted. This afternoon I'll go over and give her the deposit. Sports cars, practical estate cars and now easy to get into Volvos. Rites of passage. The sports car phase seemed to go by very quickly. 'The Font' wonders if the good price may have something to do with the car having one of 'those' paint schemes. It appears to be the same colour as cold porridge.